Frank Edward Bourne

Lieutenant-Colonel Frank Edward Bourne, OBE, DCM

The “Kid” of Rorke’s Drift and the last man standing

Frank Edward Bourne was one of those soldiers whose life reads like a Victorian adventure story, except the best parts are true. He was not a towering cinematic sergeant, not an old campaign bruiser with decades of war behind him, and not the grizzled figure many people remember from the film Zulu. At Rorke’s Drift he was only about twenty-four, slight in build, and already a colour sergeant, the senior non-commissioned officer of B Company, 2nd Battalion, 24th Regiment of Foot. That alone made him remarkable. His youth earned him the nickname “The Kid.”

Bourne was born at Balcombe, Sussex, into a farming family. He came from a large family and had little prospect of inheriting the family farm. In December 1872, against his father’s wishes, he went to Reigate and enlisted in the British Army. His army record described him as only 5 feet 5 inches, with grey eyes and brown hair. He was a far cry from the huge, middle-aged parade-ground giant later portrayed on film.

Bourne quickly proved that size was not the measure of a soldier. He was literate, disciplined, sober, and intelligent, all valuable traits in a Victorian infantry battalion. By 1875 he had been promoted to corporal, and in April 1878, while serving in South Africa, he rose rapidly through lance sergeant, sergeant, and then colour sergeant of B Company. By his early twenties, he was already carrying serious responsibility over men who were often older than he was.

His regiment, the 24th Foot, had been sent to southern Africa during the unsettled years before the Anglo-Zulu War. B Company was commanded by Lieutenant Gonville Bromhead, and by January 1879 the company found itself left behind at Rorke’s Drift, a mission station and supply post on the Natal-Zululand border. The main British column had crossed into Zululand, leaving the post guarded by a small garrison. To the men left behind, it must have seemed like a dull and thankless assignment. That changed completely on 22 January 1879.

Earlier that day, the British camp at Isandlwana was destroyed by the Zulu army. As fugitives and reports reached Rorke’s Drift, the defenders realized that a large Zulu force was approaching. The post had to be fortified in a hurry using mealie bags, biscuit boxes, wagons, and whatever else could be dragged into place. Bourne helped organize the defence, posted lookouts and men, and helped turn a vulnerable mission station and hospital into a fighting perimeter.

During the battle, Bourne was everywhere he needed to be. When the Zulu attacks pressed against the weak point near the hospital veranda, Bourne and Bromhead helped lead counterattacks that drove the attackers back. When Zulu marksmen fired down from the slopes of Shiyane, Bourne organized sharpshooters to suppress them. The defenders fought through smoke, darkness, thirst, exhaustion, and repeated assaults through the night. Rorke’s Drift became one of the most famous defensive actions in British military history.

For his conduct, Bourne received the Distinguished Conduct Medal for outstanding coolness and courage. At the time, the DCM was the highest gallantry award normally available to other ranks after the Victoria Cross. He was also offered a commission, an extraordinary honour for a non-commissioned officer in the Victorian Army, but had to decline because he could not afford the costs associated with becoming an officer. That detail says a great deal about the class barriers of the period. Bourne had the ability, the courage, and the reputation, but not yet the money.

After Rorke’s Drift, Bourne did not fade into obscurity. He continued soldiering. He served in Gibraltar, married Eliza in 1882, and became quartermaster-sergeant. In 1887 his regiment went to Burma, where it joined operations in the difficult jungle campaigning that followed the Third Anglo-Burmese War. By 1890, the Army finally found a way to reward his talent properly. He was appointed Honorary Lieutenant and Quartermaster.

Bourne later served as adjutant at the School of Musketry at Hythe, an important post in an army increasingly focused on rifle training and professional instruction. He retired in 1907 with the rank of major, but even retirement did not hold him for long. When the First World War broke out, Bourne was about sixty years old, yet he volunteered again. He served as adjutant at the School of Musketry in Dublin, and at the end of the war he was promoted to the honorary rank of lieutenant-colonel and appointed Officer of the Order of the British Empire.

That career arc is what makes him such a strong MNB hero. Bourne was not simply “a Rorke’s Drift man.” He was a farm boy who became one of the youngest colour sergeants in the British Army, held his nerve in one of the most celebrated defensive actions of the Victorian era, missed out on a commission because of money, then earned one anyway through ability and service. He rose from the ranks to lieutenant-colonel, served in the Zulu War, Burma, and the First World War, and remained ready to serve even in later life.

In later years, Bourne became a living link to Rorke’s Drift. In 1934 he appeared at the Northern Command Military Tattoo with other surviving defenders and received a tremendous ovation. In 1936 he gave a BBC broadcast for the series “I Was There,” and the response was extraordinary. Hundreds of people wrote to him afterward. Bourne reportedly replied to every one of them, a small but lovely window into his character.

Frank Bourne died in May 1945, around the time Britain was celebrating victory in Europe. He was the last living defender of Rorke’s Drift. The symbolism is hard to miss. The last survivor of one of the Victorian Army’s most famous stands passed away just as another, far larger war in Europe was ending. He was buried at Beckenham Cemetery.

Bourne’s medal entitlement appears to be tighter than many later reconstructions suggest. The solid group is OBE, DCM, South Africa Medal 1877-79 with clasp, and India General Service Medal 1854 with Burma clasp. This is enough on its own. In Bourne’s case, the story does not need padding. The real man is already more interesting than the legend.